


As I Hold You In My Arms (You're Shaking But Don't Close Your Eyes)

by losingmymindtonight



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Avengers: Endgame AU, Gen, Hurt Peter Parker, I can make anything irondad, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Suffering, The Author Regrets Everything, The Author Regrets Nothing, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, hypoxia, this is a sad one guys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-09-14 01:15:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16903335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/losingmymindtonight/pseuds/losingmymindtonight
Summary: Tony realized they were going to die about two days ago.Their ship had no fuel, no power. He’d screwed around with the wiring a million times, just trying to get communications back online, but all he got was a few painful burns and jack shit in the way of results.They were going to die in an alien spaceship, floating lightyears away from home, and there was absolutely nothing Tony could do about it.--Or: What if Peter didn't die in the Snap and lived long enough to get stranded with Tony in the Milano?





	As I Hold You In My Arms (You're Shaking But Don't Close Your Eyes)

**Author's Note:**

> I heard that a lot of y’all were wondering what would’ve gone down if Peter had survived the Snap long enough to get stranded on that ship with Tony. Unluckily for you, I had the same question. Even more unluckily for you, I decided to write this fic to answer it.
> 
> WARNINGS: Major Character Death

Tony realized they were going to die about two days ago.

Their ship had no fuel, no power. He’d screwed around with the wiring a million times, just trying to get communications back online, but all he got was a few painful burns and _jack shit_   in the way of results.

They were going to die in an alien spaceship, floating lightyears away from home, and there was absolutely nothing Tony could do about it.

It wouldn’t have mattered as much if he’d been alone. Sure, dying adrift in space was a pretty shitty conclusion to his life, but it wasn’t like he’d expected much else. After all, when did Tony Stark ever get lucky?

It was just… he had Peter with him.

Peter, who had stood next to him in silent horror as each and every one of their companions crumbled into dust. Peter, who Tony had checked over a hundred times in the aftermath, terrified that he was next, that the effects were just delayed, that the kid would fade before his eyes. Peter, who had been silently bearing the weight of _losing_ on his shoulders ever since he’d seen firsthand the real consequences of war.

Peter, who was just _sixteen_ years old.

“Mister Stark?” Peter peeked over his shoulder at the one working control panel in the whole cockpit. Tony quickly closed the oxygen stats he’d been looking at. “What’s wrong?”

_Someone still might rescue us. Peter’s suit sent out a distress signal when it went offline. As long as we’re not too far out, the radio signals should have reached Earth. They’ll come. They will._

“Nothing. Just some info on the ship’s systems. You good?”

“I’m fine.” Peter shuffled a little on his feet. “A little bored, I guess.”

“Bored? I take you to space and you say you’re _bored_? Honestly, Peter, what do I have to do to please you?”

The kid laughed. “Dunno. Maybe take me to Paris, next time.”

“When we get home, I promise to take you to more than just Paris. We’re going on a European tour. Every major city is our new playground. Sound good to you?”

Peter flashed him a huge smile. “Sounds awesome.”

_Let me get to show him Paris, and Venice, and Rome. Let me watch him graduate. Let me bring him home to May._

_Please. Please. Please._

\--

They ran out of food two days later.

At that point, his brain had already fallen into one single loop.

_Keep Peter alive. Keep Peter alive. Keep Peter alive._

He’d cut back on his own rations from the beginning, only eating enough to keep his body functioning at moderate efficiency.

The rest went to Peter. It was never even a question.

Which means that the decision of what to do with the last of their reserves wasn’t a question now, either.

“Here. Eat.” Tony pushed the packet of food into Peter’s hands. “You need it.”

“Aren’t you gonna eat, too?”

“I’m alright.”

“You’re _not_.”

“I can go longer than you can, squirt. You know that.”

Peter’s face twisted up in frustration. Tony felt a lump form in his throat. This was a _child_. Just a child. “I want you to eat.”

“And _I_ want _you_ to survive.” Tony poked the food held loosely in Peter’s hands. “So _please,_ Pete. Eat. I’ll be okay.”

The kid took his first tentative bite and Tony rubbed his shoulder gently. “Good boy.”

“I’m not a dog.”

“Really? With those puppy dog eyes of yours, you almost had me fooled.”

“I do _not_ have puppy dog eyes.”

“Agree to disagree.”

“You’re the worst.”

“Yeah, well, who’s keeping you alive in the middle of space, huh?”

Peter’s face softened. “We’ll be okay. My suit sent a distress signal, right? Mister Rhodey will come for us.”

“Yeah, kid. Of course he will.”

“See?” Peter tilted his head sideways and beamed, all teeth and misplaced optimism. “It’ll all be okay.”

Tony watched him eat the rest of the food in grim silence.

\--

Peter’s metabolism was _fast,_ and Tony hated it.

It meant that by the time 24 hours passed without anything to put in his stomach, Peter got _sick_.

At first, it had just been a headache and shakiness, so he had set the kid up on a bunk behind the cockpit and ordered him to rest. Peter had smiled tightly and said that he was fine, that Tony should stop worrying so much, and that he’d be just fine on his own if Tony wanted to go work with the ship’s circuitry again.

And Tony, the fool that he was, believed him.

When he came back a few hours later to find Peter shaking and dry heaving, Tony decided all at once that he was definitely _not_ fine.

But despite that, there wasn’t anything they could do besides wait it out, so he sat on the bunk and let the kid use his lap for a pillow as he choked back tears over stomach pains, wrapped him up in a blanket as he shivered, and played gently with his hair until he dozed off into a restless sleep.

Then, once everything was quiet and he had a moment to breathe, Tony Stark finally let himself cry.

\--

Their oxygen would run out tomorrow morning.

Nobody was coming to rescue them, at least not in time. But Tony did have hope that someone would find their bodies, someday. Maybe Star-Lord would go looking for his ship after the other Avengers reversed the Snap. If Steve was still alive, he’d pull it off. Tony didn’t doubt that for a second.

So maybe they weren’t living through this one. Maybe this was it. Maybe Peter was gonna die before his first goddamn kiss, and maybe it was all because Tony couldn’t save him.

But Tony _did_ have a quasi-working Iron Man helmet with recording capabilities, and that glimmer of hope that this ship couldn’t stay lost forever, which meant that he _could_ let the kid say goodbye.

He carried the helmet over to the bunk quietly. Peter was dozing. He’d been doing a lot of that, recently. Tony guessed it had something to do with his body entering starvation mode. All he knew was that the dry heaving had stopped, and he was choosing to see that as a good thing.

“Pete?” He jostled the kid’s shoulder gently. “Hey, buddy?”

His eyelashes fluttered in lazy acknowledgement. “Hm?”

“Wake up, Spider-boy. It’s important.”

Peter blinked his eyes open slowly. “Mhm?”

Tony raised the half-destroyed helmet. “Managed to get this thing partially working. Do you wanna record something for May?”

“Huh?”

“If you want to record a message, the helmet can make a hologram for her. If anyone finds the helmet, it’ll let them know there’s messages stored in its memory banks. I can’t be sure they’ll get it but it’s… it’s just in case, anyway.”

“Oh.” Peter pushed himself up, shaking his head as if to clear it. “Yeah. Yeah. May. Should make something for May.”

“I’ll turn it on for you. Do you want me to leave?”

“No. Stay.”

“Alright.” He reached under the chin of the mask and pressed a button, watching as a blue light spilled from the eyes and swept over Peter. He forced himself not to check the vitals the scan would have recorded. They wouldn’t tell him anything he didn’t already know.

Peter was dying. So was he. _They_ were dying. And the kicker was that it didn’t even matter, because tomorrow morning their oxygen would run out.

They were going out on a final gasp. Literally.

“You can start talking whenever, kiddo. It’s recording.”

“H-Hi, May.” Peter winced as he shifted. Hunger pains were a bitch. “I, uh, I’m really sorry I got off the bus. I know I shouldn’t’ve. It was… it was dumb.” He glanced up to Tony. “Mister Stark’s with me, though. So I’m… I’m okay. I’ll be okay.” He took a shaky breath. “I-I know raising me wasn’t always the easiest, and the thing is… you didn’t have to. I wasn’t your responsibility, but you did it anyway. So, thank you, I guess. For being the best aunt, for being the best _mom_ , I could’ve had. I-I love you. So much. I hope I can come home, but-but if I don’t… it wasn’t your fault, okay? None of this was ever your fault. Yeah.” He nodded to Tony and dropped back against the wall. “I’m done.”

He clicked the button again and watched the light go dark.

“You alright?”

Peter nodded once, then pushed off the wall until he was lying down again. “Yeah, I’m good. Gonna nap some more, I think.”

“Good idea. You rest.” He sat on the bunk beside the kid and set a hand on the top of his head. “I’ll play around with the circuitry again while you get some shuteye. Maybe I’ll figure something out.”

Peter yawned, eyes closed. “Mm. Maybe.”

He watched Peter fall asleep with trepidation heavy in his chest. As soon as he was sure the kid was out, he knew what he had to do. What he’d been putting off for days.

_Come on, Stark,_ he thought, _tomorrow morning you’re going to watch a child die. You can record a goodbye message for your fiancé._

He carried the helmet to the cockpit, careful to muffle his steps. He didn’t want Peter to hear this.

He waited as the blue scanner swept over him. Once it beeped in affirmation, he slumped back against the metal wall and sighed in defeat.

If Pepper was still alive and, _god_ , he prayed that she was, then he knew that the only thing she wanted was for him to come home. And he couldn’t do that for her. The only thing the woman he loved wanted, and he couldn’t fucking do it.

He couldn’t save Peter. He couldn’t save himself. He couldn’t save _anyone_.

When he worked up the courage to speak, he was surprised that his voice came out as steady, as _normal_ , as it did.

“Hey Ms. Potts.” _It should be Mrs. Stark. All I’ve ever wanted was for it to be Mrs. Stark._ “If you find this recording, don’t feel bad about this. Part of the journey is the end. Just for the record, being adrift in space with zero promise of rescue is more fun than it sounds. Peter says it’s a little like Star Wars, and I guess he’s right. Those movies always gave me the heebie-jeebies, though.

“Food and water ran out,” he paused to calculate, rolling his eyes up to the ceiling, “four days ago. Oxygen’ll run out tomorrow morning.” He forced himself to look anywhere other than the spot where Peter was curled up on the cot. “That’ll be it.”

What was he supposed to say? What do you say to the one person you’ve loved more than anything else, when you know it’s probably the last thing they’ll ever hear from you?

He leaned forward, and didn’t think. He just _did._

“When I drift off, I will dream about you. It’s always you.”

He reached out and clicked off the recording without another word. The eyes of the helmet went dark.

He forced himself not to consider the symbolism.

\--

What do you do, when death is imminent? What is the _right_ thing to do?

Tony didn’t know, but he chose to sit with Peter, and it felt pretty damn right to him.

\--

It was later that night when Peter spoke, voice surprisingly loud in the silence of the dead ship.

“You look sick.”

Tony twisted his neck so he could stare down at the kid tucked into his side. “You’re not looking too great yourself, buddy.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Hey, none of that. Why are we apologizing?”

“You’re gonna have to watch me die.”

He brushed a stray curl out of the kid’s face. _Just tell him. He deserves to know._ “Doubt I’ll be much for watching. Our oxygen supply runs out in the morning. If anything, we’re watching each other kick it.”

Peter blinked. He looked surprisingly apathetic for a teenager who just learned he had less than 12 hours to live. “Oh. That’s good, then.”

“That’s _good_?”

“Dying together. Better than dying alone, right?”

_Maybe. But I’d give anything to be dying alone right now if it meant that you were safe._ “Yeah, kiddo. I’ll be right here.”

\--

They slept fitfully. Consciousness seemed pretty damn valuable, all of a sudden. Then again, anything in short supply always was.

They had 2 hours left. About the length of a movie. Somehow, watching _The Phantom Menace_ felt like a decade but now every minute felt like the span of a heartbeat.

“We should go to the cockpit.”

Tony tried not to flinch at the kid’s suggestion. “Why?”

“You can see the stars there. ‘S a pretty place to, well, to be, I guess.”

_It’s a pretty place to die._

“Yeah. That’s… that’s a good idea, kid. You need help standing?”

“Nah, I’m alright.”

Tony had to steady him when he got up anyway.

They curled up near the front of the ship, backs resting against the wall. Their shoulders brushed, and Tony wondered why he’d rejected human contact so vehemently for so many years. That had been a mistake. Then again, he’d made a lot of those. What was one more regret?

“Look,” Peter whispered, eyes locked on the swirls of dust and debris, “it’s like being inside the Hubble Telescope. Uncle Ben bought me one of those photo books with a bunch of images it took when I was a kid. I still have it.”

“Space nerd, huh?”

Peter dropped his head onto Tony’s shoulder. “Yeah.”

“Any of your opinions changed?”

_Now that you’re going to die here._

“Not really. It’s still beautiful.”

Tony closed his eyes. He didn’t want to stare at those damn stars any more than he had to. “That’s… sweet.”

“They don’t want to kill us.”

“They’re just stars, Peter. They don’t want or not want to do anything.”

“So why do you hate them so much?”

“I don’t hate them.”

“You do.”

“Alright, fine, I do.”

“Why?”

“Pete,” he turned his face into the kid’s hair, “let’s not, yeah? Dissecting my issues isn’t going to do any good at this point.”

Peter twisted until he was curled more comfortably against Tony’s side, like he’d just remembered this was his last chance to cling to another human being. “I guess it isn’t.”

\--

“How much longer?”

Peter was slumped against his chest, back facing the pilot’s chair and control screens.

Which meant that only Tony could see the countdown to their deaths.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“I’d rather know, Mister Stark.” Peter’s voice was tired. Resigned. “Please tell me.”

He swallowed. “30 minutes.”

Peter’s breath caught a little. “Oh. Okay.”

They spent the next 3 minutes and 22 seconds in silence. Tony knew, because he counted.

“It’s… it’s funny.”

Tony stiffened at the laughter in Peter’s voice. They still had oxygen, so this wasn’t hypoxia. Hysteria, maybe? The stress finally catching up to him?

A small, selfish part of him felt frustrated with the kid. He’d wanted him to stay _Peter_ right up until the end. It would’ve been easier that way. Easier for Tony, at least.

“What is?”

“I wasn’t really all that scared when we fought Thanos. It’s not like I didn’t think I was gonna die, because I did. I-I didn’t really expect to live through it at all, actually. It was just… I didn’t know _how_ I was going to die, and how can you be afraid of something if you don’t know how it’s gonna happen?” Peter lets out a strained laugh. “But now I-I know. At least, I kinda know. I’m gonna-gonna suffocate and it’s gonna _suck_. And I’m-I’m scared.” Peter buried his face into Tony’s neck with a wet gasp. “Mister Stark. I’m _so scared._ ”

“Hey, hey.” _How do I comfort him? How do I keep him calm in the face of the scariest thing in the universe? He’s just a child._ “Did I ever tell you about the time Rhodey made me do hypoxia training?”

“No?”

“Well, he did. Damn bastard threw a fit when he found out I was flying around in a metal suit without it. It’s a requirement for every pilot before they can go up.”

He had Peter’s attention, at least. The kid had unstuck his face from his neck and was watching him with only slightly teary eyes.

“Hypoxia… it’s, it’s not a bad way to go, really. Doesn’t actually hurt all that much. It’ll be gradual for us, too, which is a lot better than it sounds.” He squeezed the back of the kid’s neck and shoved down his rising nausea. He didn’t have anything in his stomach to throw up, anyway. “You’ll just get dizzy, feel a little weird, and then fall asleep. It’ll be alright. Shouldn’t hurt.”

_If it was going to hurt, I’d have ended this already._

“Promise?”

“Of course I promise. And remember what you said earlier? It won’t be bad because you won’t be alone. I’m gonna stay with you the whole time. We’re doing this together.”

Peter pushed his face back into Tony’s neck. “Together.”

\--

_“That up there? That's the endgame. How were you guys planning on beating that?”_

_“Together.”_

_“We'll lose.”_

_“Then we'll do that together, too.”_

\--

“How long?”

“8 minutes.”

Peter nodded, fist clenching in the hem of Tony’s shirt. “You’ve been a really great mentor, Mister Stark.”

He ran a hand over the top of the kid’s head. “Thank you, Peter. You’re brilliant, you know that? So fucking brilliant. And braver than any kid your age has a right to be.”

“Thank you, Tony.”

“You’re more than welcome, Pete.”

\--

Nothing dramatic happened when the timer ran out.

In fact, it took a good 5 minutes to even notice the air getting thinner.

Tony tried not to think about the growing static in his fingertips. He just listened to the _whish, whoosh_ of Peter’s breathing instead.

\--

“‘M dizzy.”

“I know.” _I am too._ “It’s alright.”

“I don’t want to die.”

“I know.” _I don’t want you to die either._ “It’s alright.”

“‘M scared.”

“I know.” _I’m sorry I can’t say anything to make this better._ “It’s alright.”

\--

He couldn’t stop watching Peter.

All the lights dimmed out. The rest of the world fell into a strange blur of washed-out apathy. But Peter mattered. His eyes could still focus on Peter. He wanted to watch Peter.

He wanted to talk to Peter, too, but the cotton in his lungs and the numbness in his lips was making that a lot harder than he felt it should be.

The kid blinked up at him slowly, hand clenching and unclenching almost impulsively in his shirt. Tony tried to smile at him, but it was getting harder to feel his face so he wasn’t sure it worked.

“‘S okay, Peter.” He could barely remember why he needed to reassure him, but he knew he had to. It was important. “Y’re not alone. ‘M right here.”

“T’ny.”

“Peter.”

The kid didn’t respond again.

\--

Peter’s head dropped off of Tony’s shoulder when he fell asleep.

Tony didn’t like that. He wanted to see the kid’s face. Plus, his neck was bent forward unnaturally. That would hurt when he woke up. Tony wanted to fix it.

It took him 5 attempts to convince his arm to move, and an even larger count to get his hand in Peter’s curls. He tried to shift him up again, but his muscles kept twitching his grip loose before he could finish the movement. Finally, he managed to grab a fistful of the kid’s hair and haul him back to his shoulder that way.

He felt a little bad about pulling on his head like that, but Peter’s face stayed slack and peaceful so he guessed he hadn’t disturbed his nap.

\--

_“I’m gonna stay with you the whole time.”_

\--

His vision blurred. He couldn’t see Peter anymore, but he was still distantly aware of his weight against his side, so he wasn’t really worried about it.

_When I drift off, I will dream about you._

He felt strangely peaceful. He’d done everything he could, given everything he had. It was his time to tap out. Peter was sleeping, warm and snug in his arms. Right where he was meant to be. He’d join him, in a minute. They could rest together.

He missed Pepper, though. He wanted to think about Pepper.

_It’s always you._

Pepper. His Pepper. Sweet, beautiful Pepper.

He was going to marry her.

He felt his forehead knock against the crown of Peter’s head as his neck gave out, but the kid didn’t shift. Good. He didn't want to wake him. He was sleeping so quietly. He must be really tired.

_It’s always you._

Pepper. He’s… thinking about Pepper. The haziness in his skull didn’t matter because he didn’t need coherency to think about her. He’d remember her after he’d forgotten everything else.

_It’s always you._

He couldn’t wait to marry her.

He held onto that thought as everything around him winked out.

\--

By the time Rocket helped Steve and Rhodey track the Milano, drifting listlessly at the edge of the gravitational pull of a cold star, the ship was silent.

The air was cold and thin. _Too_ thin. Steve had to hastily shove an oxygen mask over his face before following Rhodey into the ship’s cockpit. Tony and Peter were curled in the corner, just behind the pilot’s chairs, backs pressed against the harsh curve of the metal wall. Tony’s lips were blue, the corner of his mouth just peeking out from the crown of Peter’s curls. His body was lax, head lolled forward and chest still.

But his arms? They were still wrapped firmly around Peter.

\--

_“We’re doing this together.”_

_“Together.”_

**Author's Note:**

> listen i'm sorry buT, trutHfully, i'm also not and if you're Expecting anYthing other than Agony from me at this point then you'RE wroNg and too Trusting.... i DEADass just love watching you guys squirm


End file.
